


Another notch on the calender

by turquoise_ghost



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turquoise_ghost/pseuds/turquoise_ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole year was littered with memorable events in the Life of John and Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another notch on the calender

**Author's Note:**

> In commemoration of the 29th January - The day Sherlock Holmes and John Watson first met.

The first thing John saw when he woke up on his and Sherlock’s anniversary was the red rose, lying across the vacated and crumpled sheets of Sherlock’s side of the bed. 

They hadn’t spoken about their anniversary, and John assumed that Sherlock had probably forgotten about it. Their personal timeline was more than a little bit complicated – the whole year was littered with memorable events in the Life of John and Sherlock. John did a quick count in his head, and decided they probably had about four anniversaries in total. (Sherlock, if asked, would probably have decided they had at least twenty, and had most likely sub-categorised them into folders).

There was the day that they had moved into the flat together, which had definitely deserved a yearly commemoration, so they’d gone out for dinner at Angelo’s. However this was hardly a big deal – they went to Angelo’s at least twice a week anyway, although several of those trips were stake-outs rather than dates. It had been nice anyway. John had, for once, allowed Angelo to slip a candle onto the table, and he and Sherlock had enjoyed the food and the rich wine and each others’ company and the moonlight glowing through the window, until late into the night.

Then there was the night they had first kissed. It wasn’t the start of a relationship, that didn’t come until later, and John wasn’t sure whether a first kiss was cause for commemorative celebration or not. In the end, they had settled for a near-perfectly executed repeat of the night’s events, on the same date, at the same time, exactly a year later.  
Sherlock had crowded John against the wall as soon as the door to 221B was closed, pressing into him with hungry, desperate little kisses across his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw line and finally his lips, parted slightly in a moan of desire as the detective’s fingers stroked their way up his body...

Unsurprisingly, the night they had first had sex was little over 24 hours later. It had happened in Sherlock’s bedroom, on his bed, with most of the sheets swept onto the floor and what little was left clutched frantically between Sherlock’s tight fists as John pressed into him this time, slowly rolling his hips and gasping with pleasure at the heat that surged through him at the sight of Sherlock’s pale, beautiful body stretched out underneath him. Sherlock’s legs had been clasped around John’s back as he moaned helplessly, his breath hitching as John hit the perfect spot with each thrust, causing Sherlock’s spine to arch into a gorgeous curve that John couldn’t resist trailing his fingers up, stroking his chest before winding his fingers into Sherlock’s thick, dark curls and tugging gently, both of them breathless and panting each other’s names. 

It had taken a week of passionate and desperate sex before John was brave enough to breech the subject of ‘Us’ to Sherlock. He’d been so nervous, stuttering over his words as he tried to articulate to Sherlock what he wanted, what he needed to understand. Sherlock had rolled his eyes and pulled John down next to him on the sofa, and said yes. Yes, yes to all of it. Yes. 

Another notch on the calendar. 

Sherlock was usually the type of man to scoff derisively at ridiculously in love couples who were already planning marriage after just four months together, but he hadn’t even had to think twice about his answer when John, stroking Sherlock’s hair as he lay curled up beside him in bed, had asked him. In fact, he’d had to bite his lip and clear his throat hard before answering to try and keep his voice steady. 

John had laughed out loud with delight at Sherlock’s slightly wobbly answer and kissed him hard enough that Sherlock couldn’t hold back the tiny choke that constricted his throat as he smiled and laughed with John, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of pure happiness. He’d still been grinning the next morning when, hand in hand, they had all but bounced into Lestrade’s office to tell him the news.

The wedding itself had been simple and perfect, and a year ago today, exactly.

Mycroft had tried to tempt them with an all-expenses-paid blow out of a party, but in the end they had settled for a small country reception in Sussex with just close friends and family. John’s mum had cried in a typical motherly way into her lace handkerchief for most of the ceremony, with Harry, looking embarrassed, standing next to her holding hands with Clara. 

Molly and Sarah were bridesmaids, both of them giggly with happiness in their deep purple dresses as Lestrade and Stamford escorted them down the aisle. Mycroft had tried to remain proper and professional, but he couldn’t help swelling with pride as he watched his little brother walk down the aisle with John, both of them brushing past the delicate arrangements of flowers that swathed them on either side. 

The service itself was over in what seemed like a few seconds, and then Sherlock was kissing John and their friends were applauding and throwing flower petals, confetti and rice at them. They had all gone for dinner afterwards in an idyllic country inn, where Sarah handed the barman a CD and insisted that John and Sherlock have a first dance, which they had dutifully agreed to, much to the delight of the girls, who snapped what felt like a thousand photographs. John ignored their persistent flashes and held Sherlock’s steady gaze, taking him in his arms as they moved across the floor in a floating dance.

~

John was interrupted from his happy, sleepy memories by Sherlock, who had returned to the bed and gently placed his legs either side of John’s hips, straddling him and stroking his shoulders softly. 

“Thank you” John whispered, smiling at Sherlock’s face above him.

Sherlock stroked a finger over the velveteen petals of the scarlet flower that John was twirling though his fingers and smiled back at him, but John shook his head.

“I didn’t just mean for the rose” he said softly. “I meant... for everything.”

Sherlock plucked the rose from John’s fingertips and placed it on the bedside table before leaning in to press their chests together.

“You’re welcome”, he murmured, his lips brushing John’ neck with the warm breath.


End file.
